The Cold War: A Fictional Narrative

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James was losing hope. His vision had gone blurry from the throbbing in his knee. He did not have the time to check his leg before, but the pain reminded him to. James looked down to see blood pooling on the floor coming from a barbed arrow in his thigh. One of the minions must have landed a lucky shot on him. James couldn’t give up not with his livelihood at stake. Screams and the clash of weaponry echoed around him, but they seemed distant and he couldn’t make out any of the words. James used his sword as a crutch and began to lift himself as to lean against the nearest wall. As his head peeked over the top of the parapet walls he saw the battlefield splayed before him, but it couldn’t possibly be the same battlefield he commanded moments

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